


We'll Be Running, Running, Running Again

by TheForgottenDreams



Series: I Said 'I Love You' [6]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Music, Clubbing, Flirting, Getting Together, Innuendo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 10:04:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6901498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheForgottenDreams/pseuds/TheForgottenDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You see all the guys promise heaven and none of them follow through.” Enjolras replied, his cheeks enflaming and hurting with his smirk at the innuendo hidden there. Courfeyrac and Bahorel would have been proud if they weren’t currently drinking their weights in tequila.</p><p>“And you want me to?” Grantaire quirked an eyebrow, eyes taking on something resembling serious, but so full of sin. </p><p>Screw the plan, he liked where this was going.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll Be Running, Running, Running Again

“Enjolras.” Grantaire drawled, rolling the ‘r’ is a way that made the blond’s spine shiver, Enjolras turned with a loose grin on his face, ignoring the heat he suddenly felt, the way his heart did something unhealthy he was definitely getting Joly to check later. 

“Grantaire.” Enjolras looked at him, really looked at him, he looked good, had done since their road trip, Enjolras was quietly pleased he’d played a part in the campaign to transform Grantaire from a poster for homelessness to looking like himself again. His eyes wandered from the brunet’s face to the skinny jeans clinging to his lower half quite nicely and the green of his shirt made his matching eye pop and stretched over his muscles quite tantalisingly. Enjolras fought a blush.

The blond looked up to avoid the brunet’s eyes, the ceiling was made of glass and though it was dark outside, lights hung down, giving the club a warm glow, on the dancefloor different colours flashed but he was okay in the corner, watching the other people dance or drink or talk. He felt oddly relaxed now Grantaire had joined him. 

“How’re you?” The brunet asked, causing Enjolras to meet his eyes again, damn they should be illegal. 

“Better now you’re here and you?” 

“Amazing.” Grantaire cheered, leaning on Enjolras, arm around his side – his arms should also be illegal because they were so strong and comfy to lean against - his breath smelled like fruit and Enjolras burrowed into his side involuntarily, “You know, one day we’re gonna get invited to parties like this all the time, when we’re big time.” 

“Can’t say I’ll turn up to many.” Enjolras sighed. 

“We’ll have to get a clone to go in your place.” Grantaire agreed, “I might get one too, actually.” 

“What and we go watch films in the park again?” Enjolras quirked an eyebrow, hoping Grantaire wouldn’t laugh at the idea.

“Sounds like a plan.” Grantaire smiled back, his expression so full of a warmth and happiness that made Enjolras realise he really needed to do something about his feelings, he didn’t want to end up pinning away like Courfeyrac and Combeferre or getting drunk and letting it out only to pretend nothing had happened once sobered up like Éponine. 

Enjolras wanted to be open with Grantaire, to be able to talk about his feelings with others, to be able to hold the brunet’s hand or kiss him, he wanted to be able to call him ridiculous pet names, to run away together, to write songs about him, to sing them to him. But to do that he had to tell the brunet how he felt and social interaction was not a talent listed on his CV (he’d put it on and then Combeferre had made him take it off since communicating with people he knew well apparently didn’t count).

“Do you think we’ll both be popular?” Enjolras asked, trying to whip up a speech in his mind to tell Grantaire, to make him understand everything Enjolras wanted to articulate.

“We’re going to be legends, Enjolras, you can be the queen and I’ll be the king, we can stumble through heaven, singing and dancing and spreading the love.” Grantaire laughed in his ear, his breath brushing the blond’s skin, making it prickle. He went boneless in response, leaning heavily on the brunet, blaming it on the half a beer he’d drunk and not the effect Grantaire simply had on him. 

“Queen? You know I despise the monarchy, R.” Enjolras told him with a snort, tipping his head back to rest on Grantaire’s shoulder, “But the ‘fuck you’ to gender roles is appreciated.” 

The music boomed around them, enveloping them in its loud embrace. On the dance floor a few feet away their friends danced away, laughing and singing along to the beat. The smell of alcohol, glitter and sweat washed over the club, blending together and assaulting their noses as they huddled together in a corner. 

Cosette was winning a shot drinking competition with Bahorel, Feuilly, Éponine and Jehan, Marius was hovering by the girls’ sides nervously, glasses of water in his hands as they others batted him away. Musichetta had grabbed Bossuet and the two were dancing on the table as Joly called for them to get down before Bossuet inevitably hurt himself. 

Enjolras saw, Courfeyrac was dancing with any stranger he could, trying to make Combeferre jealous and judging by the guy Combeferre was talking to and the way he kept glancing at Coufeyrac it was working. For as long as he’d know them the two had been pinning for each other, but they were too blind to see it. It was honestly tragic since they acted like they were dating anyway. 

“Fine we can be the fairly elected representative voted for and by the people.” Grantaire teased with a grin that made Enjolras’ heart hurt, drawing his attention back to the task at hand, “Doesn’t quite have the same ring to it though.” 

Enjolras hummed in reply, too enthralled with Grantaire’s smell and his eyes and his hair. He was drunker than he thought but not on alcohol, he was drunk on his feelings and on Grantaire’s eyes, leaning into the brunet’s space, savouring the feeling, the safety. His courage and nerves rising rapidly. 

“I’ll make you a God, Enjolras. I promise. I’ll write you so many songs, dedicate so many albums to you.” Grantaire told him, eyes serious, biting his lip in a way that made Enjolras want to pounce him, he felt like a cat and God, the thought of Grantaire as his pray was too hot. He should not be thinking that in a crowded club. 

“You see all the guys promise heaven and none of them follow through.” Enjolras replied, his cheeks enflaming and hurting with his smirk at the innuendo hidden there. Courfeyrac and Bahorel would have been proud if they weren’t currently drinking their weights in tequila.

“And you want me to?” Grantaire quirked an eyebrow, eyes taking on something resembling serious, but so full of sin. Enjolras loved his eyes, loved the depth and multitudes of emotions they held, loved the colours, odd and beautiful, loved the thick eyelashes curling around them. 

Screw the plan, he liked where this was going.

“If you’re offering.” Enjolras grinned back. Yes, they’d be very proud with his flirting. Or maybe they’d be cringing and dragging him away, but he like to think they’d be supportive. They probably wouldn’t be. Screw them. 

“Well I know a place we could go.” Grantaire whispered, leaning forward so his lips brushed Enjolras ear, he shivered, leaning forward to whisper into Grantaire’s own, their arms wrapped around each other in a way that felt so right, so natural, Enjolras never wanted it to end, this was so much better than the half-concocted speech he’d put together and most of that a list about Grantaire’s features and how he should just be locked away already before someone died from his beauty.

“Do you?” 

“We could take my motorbike.” 

“You’ve been drinking?”

“Switching it for apple juice, I had a feeling something would happen tonight.” Grantaire shrugged. 

“Hmmm, sure.” Enjolras accepted it, he didn’t smell like alcohol, the club did, his voice wasn’t slurred and everything he had said lucid, articulate, calculated and holy shit, did that mean he felt the same? Did that happen? Was that the sort of thing to happen to Enjolras? “We’ll go flying through the streets.” 

“Nothing less for my young Godling.” Grantaire grinned, tightening the grip he had on him. Enjolras couldn’t complained, he loved the feeling Grantaire’s arms provided, the safety and protection they promised. He felt high, high off his proximity to Grantaire, high off the idea his feelings might be returned, high off his own love. Nothing would bring him down.

“You flatter me.” 

“You deserve it.”

“You do too, God, you deserve so much ‘Taire, so much.” Enjolras told him, wanting to make Grantaire believe all he thought about the brunet, all he wanted to say but couldn’t verbalise properly. 

“Sure.” 

“You do, if you drive fast I could show you how much a lot quicker?” Enjolras whispered, voice low and husky, Grantaire’s hands gripped his shirt tighter as Enjolras aligned their hips, letting Grantaire know exactly what he was feeling. A surge of bravery rising inside him between the panicking and the flying in the clouds but the look in Grantaire’s eyes made him stop.

“Gods yes.” Grantaire gasped. 

“And then you can return the favour?” Enjolras quirked an eyebrow, eyes locked on Grantaire’s. 

“Of course, it’s only polite.” Grantaire smirked, “And I pride myself on being a gentleman.”

“Come on then, let’s see how fast your bike can go.” Enjolras laughed, catching Grantaire’s hand, the brunet chuckling at the unintentional innuendo. 

“Lead the way, your highness.” 

Enjolras just pulled him through the crowd, away from the corner they’d huddled in, a devilish smile dancing on his lips, away from the boundaries they’d always seemed to keep, away from the security of their platonic relationship status. 

But he wasn’t scared. What he felt was anticipation, excitement, exhilaration. He’d always believed all the hype about relationships and love was misguided, that nothing could be what the media claimed, focused on. But like this, skin sparking in eagerness where it touched Grantaire’s, smile easy and natural, a hand in his own, letting him lead the way – he thought maybe love surpassed the hype, because this feeling was like no other. 

Gods, he was screwed.

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by Halsey's 'Young Gods', this is the start of them - I want to apologise for the future now, so I'm sorry.
> 
> If you want to talk, I'm on tumblr at beelzebertha.  
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
